The Isle of Vanishing Men: A Narrative of Adventure in Cannibal-land

by W. F. Alder

He beats a gong briskly and chants a prayer in Malay, while the rest of the crew add their prayers to his petitions

Before going we distribute part of our remaining tobacco among the women, who have come to like us and appear sad over our sudden leave-taking. The rest we will give to our carriers when they leave us at the other kampong. With one of us white men in the lead to set the pace and the other bringing up the rear to spur on the laggards, we hasten away at a pace that soon starts the perspiration in streams. Moh walks along in the middle of the procession, happier than he has been since leaving Java. He has visions of his lady-love in Soerabaya greeting him with outstretched arms. He feels sure of her fidelity; for does she not know that he is well paid by the Tuans, and that his pockets will be well lined with guilders?

The remaining crew of the Nautilus also come with us, and are rather useful, for they proudly tote our guns. They, too, are happy, as they are anxious to return to their homes. Abreast of us is the schooner, still tacking up the coast. It seems at first as though she were slowly crawling ahead of us, but as the hours drag on we see that we are holding our own, and we even stop once for refreshment and to rest the weary natives, who are beginning to show signs of playing out. Some of them stagger a little as they come to a halt where we are piling the barang.

After the period of rest is over they shoulder their burdens and the long file is again under way. The sky becomes overcast when we are on the last four-mile stretch and still an hour from our destination. We welcome the cloudiness, for the heat has been terrific. With the clouds comes a rain-storm which soaks us to the skin, but which washes off the perspiration and is gratefully cooling. Once our spirits fall as we near the kampong. The schooner tacks again, which seems to indicate that she is going out to sea and does not intend touching at the place at all. There is excited comment from the natives at this and we indulge in a little soul-satisfying invective, until we see that the manœuver is simply to enable the boat to pass a mud-bar over which the tide is breaking. As the schooner swerves and heads directly for the village, we cheer loudly and urge the lagging Kia Kias to greater speed, that we may arrive at the place ahead of her dinghy.

We just make it, for the men drop their burdens as the crew of the schooner land through the surf. We go forward to meet the skipper of the craft and find him to be a Chinese who greets us affably. To our inquiry if he intends returning to Merauke he replies that he will after loading on five piculs of copra. We tell him that we wish to return with him and he looks at our pile of barang and shakes his head. After a little mental calculation he says that he cannot accommodate us unless we wish to leave some of our belongings for a later trip. At this we firmly shake our heads, and we finally strike a bargain by chartering his whole schooner for ourselves. The copra he leaves for a later trip.

We tell him that we must be in Merauke in time to catch the steamer for Java. Again he shakes his head and with a glance at the sky says, “Angin tida baik [The wind is not good.]” While this conversation has been under way, our bearers have cast themselves wearily down upon the sand, and as the natives of the kampong drift down to the beach they rise and try to slink away to the village, where they can hide from further work. Moh calls our attention to this just in time, and we order them back to their burdens. The schooner is lying about three hundred yards from the high-tide mark and with the receding tide is canting slowly on her side. She is aground in the mud of the river mouth.

The best way to load her with our barang is to have the men wade out and put the stuff directly on her. This they do after some remonstrance, and then our work is over. Tired out from the long hike in the heat, we go aboard immediately and change to dry, clean clothes while Moh prepares our dinner. The Kia Kias receive the remaining tobacco, five packages each, with cries of glad surprise, and it touches us to hear them singing to us while, tired as they are, they dance farewell to us up and down the beach. With all their faults, they have hearts and can come truly to like one who treats them with consideration and kindliness.

High tide is at eleven, the skipper tells us, and we must of necessity wait for it. The crew are all on shore, visiting in the kampong, from which there drifts to us the sound of merrymaking. A thump now and then warns us of the incoming tide, and soon the schooner’s decks begin to level up as she straightens to an even keel. At half-past ten o’clock the skipper comes aboard with the crew and preparations are made for getting under way. The skipper is a jolly fellow with a rotund countenance beaming with good nature mixed with shrewdness that speaks of his business ability. He has driven a hard bargain with us for the charter, he thinks, but could he but know it, we would have paid him double without rancor. In fact, we offer a prize or bonus for himself and the crew if they land us in Merauke in time to catch our steamer.

The kampong is in utter darkness when we finally weigh anchor and glide out from the shadow of the point beneath which it nestles. Only the mournful howling of a dog bids us farewell, for the natives have all turned in. There is a fair breeze, and with low contented murmurings the wavelets lap the cutwater of the schooner.

Morning dawns on a glassy sea. There is not a breath of air stirring. The sails hang motionless. The hours speed by with no change in the motion of the schooner. As the situation begins to get on our nerves and we contemplate a two-months’ stretch in Merauke, we anxiously question the skipper as to the probability of the calm enduring. He gives us little hope and we descend to the depths of gloom. The crew are gathered up forward around the typical sheet-iron fireplace, cooking rice and fish. When they have finished their meal one of them worms his way below and emerges later with a large gong. He is about to call the attention of the wind spirits to our plight and beseech them to favor us so that the bonus can be collected. He beats the gong briskly and chants an invocation in Malay, while the rest of the crew add their prayers to his. We look upon the proceeding with cynical indifference, but, much to our surprise, even while the men are still chanting and the gong booming, a cool breath fans our faces and the sail above us bellies out tentatively. At this the crew redouble their efforts and soon a spanking breeze is sending us slithering through the surges in fine style.